


Lock and Key

by A_Butter_Churner



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Also Evan picks locks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Aww, Basically Treebros fluff, Claustrophobia, Confessions, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor is Claustrophobic, Evan Helps Everbody, Evan is Wonderful, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Good Sibling Zoe Murphy, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Love Confessions, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Treebros, cursing, locks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23824249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/pseuds/A_Butter_Churner
Summary: A little known fact about Connor Murphy is that he is claustrophobic. It’s partly the reason why he prefers to stay out of his house, because anything with four walls, a ceiling, and a roof is a prison. The other reason is that his family is just fucking toxic.He used to be able to come and go as he pleased. No one really cared where he went after dark, he’d always come back anyway. Sure, Cynthia worried a bit for a while but even she got used to it.Then the Thing happened. The Thing that makes Zoe still stare at him in pure terror and shock. The Thing that still makes Cynthia cry a mother’s tears. The Thing that Larry so evidently prefers to avoid whenever Connor would bring up his mental health. He doesn’t do that anymore.After the Thing, his family gave him two locks. One lock on the outside of his window, a padlock on his door. These locks weren’t to give him privacy either. These locks were there to contain him. Because Connor Murphy is a monster when he’s angry. Connor Murphy is a demon. Connor Murphy is a fucking devil who needs to be fucking exorcised.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 145





	Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

> Yello, it's Jas.
> 
> I'M BACK WITH SOME MORE TREEBROS YAY!
> 
> Also, PLEASE don't read if you might get triggered by suicide or claustrophobia. I used to be severely claustrophobic. I'm not now, but most of the description is personal to me, so yeah.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! (Also I loved writing Evan in this XD)
> 
> <3 Jas

A little known fact about Connor Murphy is that he is claustrophobic. It’s partly the reason why he prefers to stay out of his house, because anything with four walls, a ceiling, and a roof is a prison. The other reason is that his family is just fucking toxic.

He used to be able to come and go as he pleased. No one really cared where he went after dark, he’d always come back anyway. Sure, Cynthia worried a bit for a while but even she got used to it.

Then the Thing happened. The Thing that makes Zoe still stare at him in pure terror and shock. The Thing that still makes Cynthia cry a mother’s tears. The Thing that Larry so evidently prefers to avoid whenever Connor would bring up his mental health. He doesn’t do that anymore.

After the Thing, his family gave him two locks. One lock on the outside of his window, a padlock on his door. These locks weren’t to give him privacy either. These locks were there to contain him. Because Connor Murphy is a monster when he’s angry. Connor Murphy is a demon. Connor Murphy is a fucking devil who needs to be fucking exorcised.

And now he feels more trapped than ever. Trapped inside his home, inside his mind. No access to a joint or a knife or anything to keep him away from his head.

His thoughts are like a turbulent storm, a twister of shame, and anger, and internalization. A constant hum, like a mantra, of “Why can’t you be good enough? Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you spend one fucking night inside your house like a normal human being without freaking out and going psycho?”

Psycho. Connor Murphy is psycho. Connor Murphy is psychotic and demented and he’s hurting everyone who claims to care about him just by being alive.

“Stop, please.” He whimpers. “I want it to stop.” He sounds like a kicked orphan puppy, consumed by a continuous chorus of _trapped, trapped, trapped._ The duvet cover over him seems like an endless black sea, smothering out everything in its path. Like a noose, like

Connor covers his ears but he can’t, can he? He can’t escape the sounds, Zoe’s screams, the fact that if she hadn’t seen him then, if she didn’t care enough to look for him then…

He’s back. He’s back to five months ago. The day of the Thing.

One comment was all it took. He doesn’t even remember what the comment was now, or who said it. Something about being a school-shooter? Something about his hair? Whatever it was, it had sent him spiraling. The walls were a lot closer and he needed to get. Out. Now. But even once he was he had left the school he was still stuck in his head. Being high didn’t help, and it was raining liquid hell outside.

When he’d gotten home, Cynthia had practically begged him not to go outside that night. Connor Murphy was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an inconsiderate son.

So he stayed, for a while. He couldn’t sleep. Everything was so suffocating, like he was drifting in a tunnel underwater, and the entrance was closing fast, the walls pulsing and grinding with inexplicable malice.

He couldn’t stay any longer. He needed to breathe. He needed air. He needed so many things that he couldn’t have right then and he just ran. Just opened the window, jumped out, and ran through the torrential rain that bit and cut in all sorts of places. Every drop felt like a tiny dagger, drawing crimson blood from his ghostly skin.

Connor ran until his legs gave out.

And. Well.

He lay in the middle of the road, the sky hazy. He was cold, but he was freeing up. The entrance was opening again, although it wasn’t what he needed. He saw the headlights like two eerie lighthouses in the distance. His fingertips tingled with the urge to get up, but the rest of his body wouldn’t comply. Wasn’t this so much easier? Wouldn’t it be nice to just lie there in a fluctuating, transformative apathy?

_This isn’t safe,_ the rational part of his brain chided. But he was in no mood for rationale. For the first time, he was content. He wasn’t free. But he was content.

He heard the car stop.

He heard Zoe screaming that night.

She hasn’t spoken to him since.

And now Connor is trapped trapped trapped again. He’s suffocating again. He’s not going to make it this time. If only he could _get out._

He fumbles through his pocket for his phone and pulls it out, dialing the first contact in it: Anxious Tree Boi.

_Evan Hansen._

After the Thing, he somehow became friends with this boy. He doesn’t remember exactly how it happened, the anxious boy was probably apologizing for something or another. Maybe because Kleinman was being a douche. But this amazing, inexplicably adorable boy has the power to make Connor breathe a little easier with every word and tiny crook of his lips. This boy, Evan Hansen, has the power to make Connor feel free.

And Connor needs that right now.

He tries to count his breaths.

One. _Rrrrinnnggggg_

Two. _Rrrriiiiiinnnnngggggg._

Three. _Rrrriiiiiinnnnnggggg._

Four. “C-connor? It’s, like, 11:45, why are you calling me? N-n-not that I don’t want you to call me, I love it when you call me! Wait, is that weird? Do I sound weird? Shit, I sound like a creepy pervert. Um, hi?”

Connor lets out a shaky laugh. “Hey. I just really needed to talk to you.”

He can hear Evan’s shoulders relax on the other line. “Yeah, okay.” A pause. “Is something wrong? You don’t sound too well.”

Connor can feel water laced with salt pushing against his lids, threatening to spill out in a fiery storm. “I’m scared, Evan. I’m fucking terrified.”

Evan’s voice goes low. “Is it the locks?”

Connor nods, before realizing that Evan can’t see him. Before he even answers, Evan says, “I’m coming over.”

“Evan, there’s a fucking lock.” Connor deadpans.

“I-it’s n-not something I’m p-proud of. But, um, I’m pretty good with lock-picking? Jared and I would play Escape Room a lot, when we were little. Um, it was scary, but I learned something I guess.”

“Wow, Hansen, you are one badass guy.” Connor attempts to joke, but it falls flat. He’s trembling.

“I’ll be there in like, 10, okay? Hang tight.”

Connor hangs tight. His head is drowning and the only thing keeping him from fully succumbing is a mantra of _Evan Evan Evan._

Soon, he hears knock on the window pane. Evan’s adorable freckled face is smooshed against the glass. Connor lets out a guffaw and presses his nose to the glass. Then Evan Hansen, armed with a bobby pin, proceeds to pick the lock and Connor Murphy isn’t sure whether or not he’s dreaming.

When Evan finally succeeds, he pushes the window open and throws his arms around Connor, tackling him onto the bed. The tears come then and he buries his face in Evan’s dark blonde hair.

“I’m sorry, Ev. You shouldn’t have to come here and take care of me like this.” Connor finds himself mumbling.

Evan pulls away, the look on his face fierce and furious. “ _Never_ apologize for needing help, Connor. You deserve to be helped and cherished and cared about. You deserve to have at least _one_ person who knows what you need, who knows that someone as _severely claustrophobic_ as you should not be locked up in their room. You aren’t forcing me to be here. I’m here because _I_ chose to be. I chose you. I choose you. I will continue to choose you for forever. I _choose_ to care about you. I _choose_ to love you.”

Even in the darkness, Evan’s face is blooming bouquets of rosy embarrassment from the confession he has just made.

_Could it be?_ _Is this really happening?_

“I love you too, Tree Boy.” Connor whispers softly, pulling Evan in once more. The tears haven’t really gone away.

“Can I?” Connor asks, brushing his thumb what he hopes is tenderly over Evan’s jaw.

Evan’s eyes close and he nods in earnest.

It’s not perfect by a long shot. But he can taste sunbutter and hints of Concord grape jelly on Evan’s lips, combined with the salt from his own tears. They’re both sighing into the kiss and pulling each other in with every breath of each other’s air. Squeezing together like there could never be enough.

“Are you feeling better? A little?” Evan murmurs suddenly.

“Yeah.” He smiles against Evan’s lips.

The two boys cling to one another until the sun rises and Evan climbs out the window, placing the lock back in its original spot.

And Connor feels Free. Truly free. Not So Trapped. Because there may be locks on his door and his window, but Evan Hansen is the key to it all.

Especially his heart.


End file.
